Reading Anne Lamott makes you think. Of life and writing. Of mess, pain, darkness, craziness and…
On what writing means to you.
After finishing one of the chapters of “bird by bird”, I started thinking about what writing is for me.
It’s like breathing.
It’s like finding my voice.
It’s like looking inside, searching inside, catching a glimpse of what makes me sad, what is torturing me, what makes me want to shout out loud, what gives me goosebumps, what kills me and what makes me alive. All in once.
It’s like sharing, being part of the solution (whatever the question – doubt – worry is).
It’s like being authentic, letting go.
It’s like treasuring the silence.
It’s like talking over a warm coffee on a cold Saturday morning.
It feels like crying sometimes, losing battles or catching emptiness in the midst of chaotic days.
It’s like being human and celebrating life.
It’s like finding my balance, my truth.
It’s like acknowledging that I am a mess somedays and full of hope others.
It’s like peace at the end of a long ride.
It’s like touching my dark side.
It’s like healing, grieving, standing up and dancing at the sound of victory.
It’s a way to say Thank you. To the World. To God.
It’s like talking to God, talking to pain, talking to every single life I encounter.
I don’t always know what to say, how to say it. I am not always true to myself, to you. Somedays I’d rather like be somebody else, using others words and style. Till I set the alarm clock and take some rest, look around and decide that whatever happen in this world, I have this chance to be who I am and to be alive. As I stop, I take a deep breath. It’s time for me to open a note book and scribble down my thoughts on writing and what it takes to follow one’s dream.
What about you? What writing means for you?
Do you know Anne Lamott?